


The Sorcerer and His Shadow Self

by darthpumpkinspice



Series: silas the king [2]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Psychic Bond, Revenge, a thousand years locked away makes a person a little crazy, poor Stefan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan is trapped in the coffin and Silas tells him a story: a story of an ambitious man who loved a woman, and the witch that cursed him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sorcerer and His Shadow Self

**Author's Note:**

> The semi-followup to Mesmerizing, although they can be read separately as well. Like with that one, this was written a while ago so it doesn't really align with current canon, I just thought it would be fun to post here.

You have drowned too many times to count. The icy water that fills your coffin burns like fire through your throat and lungs. Your screams are swallowed by the sea. Your strength has failed you, and after all these months imprisoned you can barely mustered the strength to twist around in a futile effort to escape.

The nightmare of your situation would be ironic in another circumstance. After all, your father always used to tell you that your worst enemy was only yourself. _Only._ As you cough out laughter between the suffocations, you wonder if you are mad. You wonder if this is what finally breaks Stefan Salvatore, the Ripper.

In between the deaths and resuscitations, he comes to you like an especially intrusive delusion. His voice fills your ears, and he murmurs false comforts and feeds you intricate lies. He is like a sadistic child, toying with a helpless insect, and he seems to relish his one-sided conversations with you. Deep in your mind, behind the thick wall of pain and hunger, another part of you cringes in shame because the sadist in your head must really be kin… there is no one else in the world that would be this twisted but _you_.

One day-night (you've long lost track of time) he comes to you again, but this time it is different. His voice is quieter, more subdued.

" _Shadow self,"_ he says " _do you want to hear a story?"_

_No_ you think, but it is too late, the water fills your mouth and nose and you drown, again. When you awake, he is with you, and his words are the only thing you have to cling to.

_Here is a story, shadow self:_

_There is a man. A witch, though his fellows call him a sorcerer. He is powerful, more powerful than any he has ever met, excluding one. He has worked his spells in service of Emperors and warlords, simple farmers and rich merchants. Before his twentieth birthday he has aided the armies of great Rome, journeyed across the Mediterranean, battled with demons in realms that are better left nameless._

_The other witches speak in awed tones of his abilities. They say, amongst themselves, "Silas has more power than any magician in his era." They talk of his destiny as if they have already planned it out, they say he will be a great servant of nature… they say he will lead his brethren against those that have renounced balance- the dark witches, the ones that perform bloody sacrifices and indulge in the taboo now known as Expression magic._

_The truth is, Silas is cares little about balance. The lavish palaces have whetted his appetite, the meetings with the generals and kings that command vast armies and great nations have enhanced his ambition. Power has come easily to him, he has taken it for granted- that ability to light a fire with a thought, or ensnare a demon in a binding spell- this power has always_ _been his to wield. But Silas has never had power over people, the power of influence an Emperor maintains over his subjects. Silas is fascinated by this control, and desires it._

_The other truth is… Silas is not the greatest witch in the world._

_Her name is Qetsiyah, and she is the oldest and strongest creature he has ever known._

_She looks young and pretty, like a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Her skin is dark, and her hair is as inky black as midnight. Her eyes are her only features that betray her ancientness. He remembers asking her of her age one brisk afternoon. He remembers her shrug of indifferent, and her airy answer of, "Maybe a thousand. Maybe more."_

_She does not remember where she was born. Maybe Judea, maybe Egypt… she remembers both places in vivid detail. She remembers the armies of Alexander, the pharaoh's of Egypt, the rise of Rome… she has been to China and Hispania and to unknown places beyond the vast seas… her travels have taken her further than even the furthest reaches of great spread of the Roman Empire. She has collected spells from magicians of royal courts and half-mad hermits; she has apprenticed herself to legendary sorcerers and witches who have long been forgotten from the annals of history. She possesses secrets so old and dangerous a proper witch would never seek to learn them._

_But Silas has never been a 'proper' witch. He wants to learn her dark secrets, unlock the mysteries the other witches would deny him. He wants to rule._

_And Qetsiyah helps him because she is bored, and because she loves him._

_Qetsiyah has heard of a long-lost spell some once used to bind demons from the netherworlds to human flesh. It is a dark spell, a forbidden spell. The legends say it offered the spellcaster great power, but at a terrible price. They would be forever deprived of their magic, forever dependent on the taste of blood._

_Silas is not interested at first. He does not want to sacrifice his innate power for the mythical stuff Qetsiyah speaks of. But as they learn more about the spell, he becomes slowly convinced._

_In addition to the power offered by the demon spirit, Qetsiyah says she has found a way to combine an immortality enchantment to the spell. Unlike the glamour she uses to keep herself young and healthy, this magic will be enhanced by the ritual and the demon… Silas will be un-killable, unstoppable. He will reign over a thousand nations if he desires, no army would be able to stand against him._

_It takes her a year of preparation, but by the time twelve moons have completed their cycles in the night sky, she is ready. She tells him on the next full moon, the two will be able to summon the demons and make themselves immortal._

_Silas tells her he will be ready. What he does not tell her is that he plans on bringing another to take her place._

_He has fallen in love, with a girl whose name he has long forgotten. He remembers her beauty, her captivating smile and charm. And when Qetsiyah discovers his betrayal, he remembers her screams of terror as the witch cuts open her belly and stains the ground with her blood._

" _I would have made you immortal!" she rages, voice rising as the wind whips around her._

" _I love her!" Silas protests, kneeling on the ground in an attempt to save his lover's life. His hands are red with her blood, and despite his best attempts, she continues to bleed._

" _I love you!" Qetsiyah yells at him. Perhaps it is a tear that runs down her cheek; perhaps it is a bead of sweat from the exertion of her magic._

_Silas's love dies in his arms and he looks up at his friend with the taste of bile in the back of his throat. Hatred and grief make his voice hoarse as he spits out, "I have_ never _loved you."_

_It is a lie, he has loved her always. He loves her now, despite this, despite his rage, despite his loss._

_But Qetsiyah believes his lie, and with a broken sob of anger she screams out the word that tears open the sky. Another word, and she rips out the demon power that completes the ancient spell, and plunges the force of the beast into Silas. He loses conscious, and perhaps that is a mercy._

_When he reawakens, he is bound by thick chains and trapped within the tight confines of a stone sarcophagus. The top shifts, and Qetsiyah's face looms above him._

" _You have betrayed me," she tells him quietly, her eyes smoldering with a barely contained fury._

_Silas remains silent, his love is still dead and Qetsiyah is her murderer._

" _I offer forgiveness." She places an object between his hands. "Take this and be reunited in death with me. But I have ensured you will never see your love again. That is the price of your betrayal. This is the cost of your redemption." Her eyes, cold and hard, are the last things he sees. With a wave of her hand, the lid of the tomb snaps shut, and Silas is trapped._

_A day._

_A week._

_A year._

_A century._

_A millennium._

_And another._

_He starves and sleeps and dreams and desiccates. Slowly he begins to exert his influence over the world outside. It takes time. More time than he thought he could bear. But he never succumbs to the temptation to take the cure, if only out of spite._

_He knows not if Qetsiyah still walks the Earth. Her descendants do, including a girl with eyes eerily similar to the eyes of the woman who buried him alive._

_And_ his _kin have managed to remain. His shadow self… his doppelganger, created by nature to restore balance._

_And_ he _remains, immortal, finally victorious. He has won; he has bested Qetsiyah, his sister and greatest friend… his torturer and greatest enemy. He will rule as he once wished too, he will be king once again. And all will kneel before him, and he will be triumphant._

And he finishes his tale and you continue to writhe in your watery tomb… as you drown once more.


End file.
